Waking the Dead

by Jane Davitt

  “Anyway, wherever you end up, I’ll find you. Don’t worry about that, okay? I’ll find you. I promise.” Nick was nearly sobbing now, memories of ghosts’ despair and anguish clawing at him.

  “Oh, God, Nick, don’t.” John sounded horrified now. “I didn’t mean to upset you, love. It’s just ‑‑ I can’t see me finding much happiness anywhere if you weren’t with me. I’d sooner there be nothing than an eternity with you missing. But for the love of God, ignore me, because that’s just not something we need to be thinking about right now.” John pressed frantic, coaxing, soft kisses against Nick’s hair and cheek over and over until Nick had to turn his face to answer them.

  “Sorry,” he said, gasping. John’s lips caught at his and Nick kissed him back, harder than he’d meant to, the near-pain of it comforting somehow. “God, it scares me more than anything, the thought of losing you. But I won’t. We won’t. That’s what this is for.” He shifted his arm slightly and the twine that bound their wrists together made John’s arm move with his. Nick’s eyes burned with tears and he had to clear his throat. “I’ll never leave you. Never. Not when I’m alive, and not…after.”

  “I know that. I do.” John nodded, his hand making slow, regular passes over Nick’s back. “And now you can help me to take this string off because I’m making us both a cup of tea and I need both hands for that.”

  “No,” Nick said urgently. He pulled back so he could see John’s face. “Not yet. I haven’t… There are still things I want to say. Need to. I… You know I love you. I hope you know how much, and I hope you know that with this twine or without, with the words spoken or not…” God, was it possible to be any worse at this? He sounded like an idiot, but he soldiered on because it was important to him that John hear it all. “Being married ‑‑ if we could, I mean ‑‑ wouldn’t make me any more committed than I am. There’s never been anyone else for me.”

  John smiled at him. “I’ve never needed anything more than what we’ve had all these years, either. And I’ve never doubted you love me. You walked off that ferry, and I just ‑‑ I knew. I still do. I always will.” He brushed the back of his knuckles over Nick’s face. “Always,” he repeated.

  “Me, too,” Nick said. “Always.” He gazed into John’s eyes, spellbound, until he finally had to blink and look down at their wrists. “Okay, yeah. Tea would be good. Preferably with some whisky added.” He felt a bit shaky as, working together, they unknotted the twine ‑‑ it was harder to do than he would have guessed. He handed John his slacks and pulled on his own, then took a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it around his shoulders as he followed John into the kitchen.

  Staring out the window at the gathering dusk, John’s arm around Nick’s waist, they stood in a comfortable silence as the water in the kettle boiled.

  “We could maybe put a bench out there in the spring,” John said eventually. “Then sit out there and watch the sun set over the sea. I could build one easy enough. There’s driftwood stacked behind the shed that might do the job.”

  “I’ll help,” Nick said.

  “Mmph.”

  “Hey!” Nick protested. “I can saw and hammer and nail.”

  “You can, I’ll not deny it. It’s just that half the time you hammer your own thumb as often as the nail.”

  “That’s ‑‑” Nick began to defend himself and then reconsidered, remembering the throb of a bruised thumb as vividly as when it’d been injured. “Okay, you’re better at it than I am. But I still want to help.”

  Steam poured out of the spout in a pale plume, and the kettle clicked off. John hugged Nick to him and then moved away to make the tea. “Fine by me.”

  Nick loitered behind John as he put tea leaves into the pot and poured the water in, not wanting to be too far from him right then. When he’d finished, Nick wrapped his arms and the blanket around John from behind, enveloping him in slightly scratchy wool. His chin fit neatly over John’s shoulder, and he kissed the juncture of shoulder and neck softly, the barest brush of his lips. Still easily aroused by John and having been cheated not fifteen minutes before of the release it had wanted, his body responded immediately to the closeness and to John’s familiar male scent.

  “We didn’t finish what we started,” John said as Nick caressed his bare stomach beneath the blanket.

  “No.”

  “Would you like to?” It was a totally unnecessary question, what with the way Nick’s renewed erection was poking against John’s ass.

  Nick smiled against John’s neck and kissed it again. “Mm-hmm,” he said. “Yes. I believe I would.”

  Somehow, neither of them was inclined to abandon the tea. Maybe it was because it seemed wrong not to finish something they’d started; maybe it was because they took so much pleasure in teasing each other with touches and the press of lips to sensitive spots behind ears and under the curve of jaws. Whatever it was, they took their time drinking their tea, the splash of whisky added to the mugs providing an extra bit of warmth. By the time they were down to the dregs, Nick was sitting on John’s lap kissing him, licking the taste of tea and spirits from his mouth and sighing happily.

  “Do you want to go back to the couch?” John bit gently at Nick’s shoulder, his lips holding the heat of the tea. “Or up to bed? Or stay right here?” As he spoke, his hand was busy between them, deftly unfastening first Nick’s, then his slacks. Nick was hard enough by then for him to sigh with relief as his erection slipped free and into John’s waiting caress. John groaned and grazed his teeth across Nick’s neck as his hand tightened. “God, will we ever not want this, do you think?”

  “I hope not.” Nick meant it with all his heart. He couldn’t imagine not wanting John ‑‑ not wanting to feel John’s skin bare against his own, John’s cock stroking its way inside him, making him moan and cry out and shake and come. Even now, John’s hand was teasing him in short, slow pulls at the head of his cock; Nick shifted so he could touch the tip of John’s, the skin there so soft and delicate that it was no wonder it drove him crazy. He remembered he was supposed to be answering John’s question. Questions. “I don’t know. Um. Maybe the couch. Near the fire.” Although if John kept doing what he was doing, Nick might not be capable of moving anywhere at all.

  John seemed to feel the same way, because his hand stayed where it was and kept moving, never enough to bring Nick close to coming, but more than enough to make him want that release with a growing desperation. After a few moments, though, John gave a sigh and rolled his eyes. “You’re right. And you’re heavy.”

  “I’m not the one who ate dessert every night,” Nick pointed out as he slid off John’s lap and led the way back to the couch.

  “No.” John’s hand landed on Nick’s ass, delivering a light smack. “And I’m not the one who kept drinking cocktails with half a fruit basket in them.”

  “Fruit’s very healthy.” Nick kicked off his slacks and turned to see that John had already gotten rid of his. “And if you want my body, maybe you’d better start apologizing for that crack about me putting on weight.”

  John’s mouth quirked in a grin that matched the one shaping Nick’s lips. “Happy to, love. On bended knees, if that’s what you want.”

  Whatever John was planning to do on his knees, Nick really didn’t think it would involve apologizing, and he was proved right as John stepped closer and sank down. Once on his knees, with the heat of the nearby fire like a touch on Nick’s side, John pressed slow kisses on Nick’s stomach, dragging his mouth across skin over and over until Nick’s breath was escaping in harsh, quick pants, and his fingers were clutching John’s shoulders.

  Nick wanted to find words to ask John to move his attentions to the erection jutting up so close to his mouth ‑‑ hell, he’d be happy to beg if it got him that wet, welcoming heat to slide into ‑‑ but it was John who groaned and muttered an unnecessary, “Please,” before taking the tip of Nick’s cock between his lips. For a moment, Nick felt the flick of John’s tongue, tasting, explori
ng, and then John groaned again and opened his mouth wider. His hands were curved around Nick’s ass, and even as Nick tried not to push forward greedily, John urged him to do just that with a firm pressure, guiding Nick’s cock deep into his mouth.

  It always felt deliciously wrong to do this ‑‑ fucking someone’s mouth seemed impolite ‑‑ but there was no doubt that John loved it as much as Nick did, what with the soft noises he made, muffled in his throat, as Nick pushed between his lips. The slide was slick and perfect, but much too short. Nick wanted to keep going deeper; each thrust ended too soon, and he had to distract himself with the soft feel of John’s hair in his hands, the solid jut of his skull, each inch of it lovingly traced as John sucked him.

  Nick would have liked it to go on forever, but within two minutes he was moaning and trembling, his calf muscles starting to ache with the effort of holding back. He wanted to come like this. He wanted to come with John inside him. Which he wanted more was hard to decide.

  “John,” he gasped.

  John paused, gave one final, hungry suck, and then took his mouth away and tilted his head back. The clear lines of his lips were softened, blurred, and his eyes were clouded with arousal. It was an effort to look away from his face, but Nick glanced down and saw how hard John was, his cock untouched because John’s hands had never left Nick’s body. The visual, and the vivid memories of what it felt like to be fucked by John, made the decision easier than it had been a few moments earlier.

  “Mmm?” John said, the murmur of inquiry seemingly all he could manage in the way of speech.

  “I want you to fuck me.” Nick traced two fingertips across John’s suntanned cheekbone to his ear, then down along his jaw to his mouth. “Here, in our house.”

  “Love,” John said, “there’s nothing I’d like more.”

  John stood and they kissed for a minute, Nick’s hand wrapped around the heavy, familiar weight of John’s cock. Pressed against John’s thigh, his own cock was still slick as a result of John’s attention; it wasn’t until John made a muffled sound and moved to retrieve an almost-empty bottle of lube from the drawer in the table beside the couch that Nick took a deep breath and sat down, grateful for the opportunity because his legs were suddenly weak with desire.

  “Nearly out of this,” John said absently, holding the bottle up. “But there’s enough for now.” He gave Nick a quick grin. “Which is just as well, as I don’t think I have the patience to go hunting for more.” He tossed the bottle up and caught it neatly, his gaze fixed on Nick. “If you want me to fuck you, you’ll need to move.” He reached out and ran his fingers roughly, lovingly through Nick’s hair. “God, I’m aching for you as if we haven’t done this for weeks. Months.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Nick said. He caught John’s hand with his own and pressed an awkward kiss to the knuckles, trying to think where he could move to that would make it easiest for John to get inside him as soon as possible. “Here, what about this?” Turning around, he got up onto his knees on the couch cushion and leaned against the back of the couch. “Will this do?”

  He heard John’s eager intake of breath and knew that the answer was yes even before John spoke. “God, yes.” There was the flip of the bottle’s cap opening, then John’s slick, somewhat cold fingers were pressing into Nick gently, easing him open.

  Nick exhaled and relaxed, moaning as John’s fingers pushed deeper. “Fuck. Oh, God, that feels so good.”

  “It’s going to feel better,” John promised. Nick felt a kiss against his shoulder, John’s breath warm, vaguely whisky-scented, and then, after one final slow, deep thrust of John’s fingers, he was left empty again, waiting.

  Before he had time to do more than murmur a protest that he knew he didn’t really need to make, the head of John’s cock was pressing against him, entering him, opening him, filling him. Behind him, John made a soft, exultant sound, his hands gripping Nick’s hips. “Nick ‑‑”

  Nick leaned forward so he could rest his head on his hands and concentrate on breathing; if he didn’t, he was going to come really, really soon, and even though he knew it would feel fantastic, so did this. He wanted to enjoy it as long as he could. John paused when he was as deep as he could go. Experimentally, Nick tightened his body around John’s cock, eliciting groans from both of them, and then John started to move again.

  A long, slow pull out, a brief pause, and an even longer, slower thrust back in. It wasn’t slow enough that it made Nick completely crazy, but it was a close thing. “God.” He shuddered as John’s hips moved away from him again; John’s hands held his own hips in place. “Please.”

  “You want faster?” John rocked forward the barest amount possible; Nick felt a hot prickle of sweat break out along his spine, and he gritted his teeth, holding back another plea. “You want me to stop teasing you?” John chuckled, the sound choked off as he slid his cock deeper with what felt to Nick like an involuntary jerk of John’s hips. He could feel John’s control shredding, splintering. “Oh, God, Nick, it’s me I’m tormenting, love, not you, but I just don’t want this to end.” He moved one hand up to Nick’s nape, and Nick shuddered at the possessive clasp, shivers chasing over him. “If I fuck you hard and fast ‑‑ and God, I want to ‑‑ I’ll come. I damn nearly did just from my fingers in you, seeing the way you moved, hearing you ‑‑”

  John’s words were tumbling out, and he was moving in spite of them, smooth, perfect strokes, the words continuing as if they were the only way John had of distracting himself. Nick barely understood them, too lost in the pleasure tearing through him, but the soft cadence of John’s voice itself was like an additional touch.

  “Watching you come…feeling you…” John thrust deep again, the head of his cock glancing off Nick’s prostate, and Nick bit down on the inside of his own cheek in a desperate attempt to stave off the orgasm that was gathering low in his belly like a snake waiting to strike.

  “God, I’m ‑‑ John ‑‑” Nick found himself rocking back to meet each thrust now. John wrapped an arm around him, hand sliding down along his chest and lower until it encircled his hard, swollen cock, and that was all it took. Nick came, crying out and jerking helplessly in John’s hand, his ass clenching around John in waves that felt so good they almost hurt.

  He caught his breath and then heard John say his name and felt John freeze in place for a moment before driving into him in one long, hard stroke and staying there.

  “Nick ‑‑”

  He could feel John’s climax as intensely as he’d felt his own, could almost believe he heard the way John’s thoughts went from a chaotic, urgent clamor to stillness, pure sensation wiping his mind clean for a moment.

  Then the sense of oneness ebbed, and it was just him, drawing in air in greedy gasps as if he’d been holding his breath, and John behind him, hugging him, easing Nick down to lie on the couch in an uncomfortable, perfect, messy tangle of sweat-slicked bodies.

  Nick kept thinking he should say something, like “Wow,” maybe, but it didn’t seem like he had enough energy to form a word. It took ages for his heartbeat to slow to anything close to normal, and by the time it had, the fire was dying down, its pops and cracks less frequent, too.

  “I don’t want to get up,” he said finally. Not that it would be comfortable to spend the night where they were, limbs awkwardly placed, but it was such a perfect moment that he didn’t want to dislodge it. He wanted to hold onto this, keep it.

  “No, but I’m thinking we should,” John said, his words punctuated by a yawn. “Clean up, eat, go to bed…our bed.” He yawned again and rubbed his face against Nick’s shoulder with a sleepy affection. “I liked it fine in that fancy hotel, but I’m glad we’re back.” He lifted his head and gave Nick a contented look.

  “Yeah. Me too.” Nick tilted his chin and kissed John, a crooked, misaligned kiss that only involved half their mouths. He agreed; it had been an amazing holiday ‑‑ he couldn’t imagine a better one.

  But it was good to be home.


  Jane Davitt

  Jane Davitt is English, and has been living in Canada with her husband, two children, and two cats, since 1997. Writing and reading are her main occupations but if she ever had any spare time she might spend it gardening, walking, or doing cross stitch.

  Jane has been writing since 2005 and wishes she'd started earlier. She is a huge fan of SF, fantasy, erotica, and mystery novels and has a tendency to get addicted to TV shows that get cancelled all too soon.

  She owns over 4,000 books, rarely gives any away, but is happy to loan them, and is of the firm opinion that there is no such thing as 'too many books'.

  Alexa Snow

  Alexa Snow is an emotional person who appreciates practicality in others. She's prone to crying at inconvenient times, drinking too much coffee, and staying up too late playing with words (either reading or writing.) A background of schooling she wasn't all that interested in resulted in a Bachelor's degree in Sociology and a vague sense of wasted time. Alexa lives in a tiny, ancient house in New England with her husband, young son, and two little-old-lady cats.